


Old Friends

by Sunevial



Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunevial/pseuds/Sunevial
Summary: Everyone's story starts somewhere. The Old Priestess is no exception





	Old Friends

The first time we met, she was old and I…I was young. Young in the sense I was new to the world. 

She was benevolent, kind of heart and mind, surrounded by deer and birds and small animals wherever she roamed. Flowers would spring underfoot as she dance, her laugh sent out the winds to the four corners of her land, her tears falling into crystal clear pools for all to drink and feel at peace. Daughter of the Ebbing Sea and the North Wind, Mother of the Dryads and the Forest Folk. She was the earth given body, the tempest given form, life given a voice, death given a hand, and yet she smiled and sang and let those who passed through sleep with ease. And they sang their praises to her, giving gifts to honor her power and taking no more than what they needed.

We did not speak. I do not think she ever saw me. But I saw her.

I saw her power and ventured no further, for I was young and could not hope to match her in strength. I was small, I was new, barely given form, only my name to claim as my own. And even that was not enough. What is a name without a story? What is a name without power? What is a title without substance?

Nothing.

Less than nothing.

And so I left her be. 

* * *

The second time we met, she was diminishing and I…I was growing. Growing in the sense I was coming into my own.

She was jaded, land claimed and scorched by the mortals she had once come to appreciate and love, trees felled and rivers running dry. Her shrines had broken into nothing, gifts no longer laid at the bases of the trees. Her footsteps would spring thorns, animals now ran from her fury and her anguish, her screams sending out the thunder and lightning to plague those who had done her wrong. That Which Lurks in the Rustling Leaves Unseen, The Vengeful Woman of the Forest, a testament to mortal greed. She was the earth and the tempest, she was life and death, and yet she had been so much more.

I spoke to her, giving my name. She did not turn her anger to me.

I saw her pain and offered her a pact, for I was older and we perhaps were equals in strength. I was confident, I was established, my name being whispered along the winds and in dark shadows where nothing else lies. I had my ideas to claim, stories I wanted to write, games I wanted to try. But even so, I was too young to claim my old home, too weak to pull the fabric of reality to my whims.

She had the land. The land I needed. And the rage to agree with what I offered.

And so I came to call her a coworker.

* * *

The third time we met, she was dying and I…I was powerful. Powerful in the sense I could do something.

She was scared, holding my hand tight and eyes open wide with the fear of wasting away until there was none who remembered her, existence forgotten as the last of her land was cut and cleaved into. Clinging onto me, trembling as a leaf caught in the wildest of gales can only do, lost and unable to anything but go where it took her. Stripped of everything she had ever been, no longer the earth or the tempest or life or death but simply herself, a broken spirit who had wanted to help, who had wanted to hurt, but really just wanted someone. Someone, anyone to be there for her when she was at her lowest.

I held her tight, screaming out not to leave, not to go where I couldn’t follow.

I couldn’t lose her.

I wouldn’t lose her.

I needed her. 

I saw her fear and begged her for answers, for I was stronger and could do something to save her. I was death, I was murder, I was the void given form and the seconds where everyone is utterly and truly alone, but she wasn’t supposed to get caught up in that. I was the storyteller, I was the one in control of fate, and if I could rewrite their destinies, then by the god I knew I was I could rewrite hers. But I didn’t know how, not with a being that was supposed to have the power of her own. 

She told me what I had to do. The deal that would bind her to me. And so she spoke her name, the name she had kept secret for eons beyond what mortals could comprehend.

And so I came to call her mine.

My Oldest Friend.

My First General.

My Follower.

My Priestess.


End file.
